Well, Phuck
by hellojossi
Summary: Chaptered; 2009 Dan and Neko!Phil, Dan is living with his parents who are never home, not that he minds. He likes being alone, but he would like it more so if he didn't keep hearing inexplicable noises in the kitchen.
1. Prologue

So I've been writing this one for awhile, and I'm about three chapters in. Reviews pointing out errors help!  
Pairing: Phil Lester x Dan Howell (Phan; Neko!Phil x 2009!Dan)  
Warnings: Later (Furry)Smut  
Genera: Fluffy Fantasy

_**Prologue**  
Lying on his bed, laptop on his chest, scrolling through twitter. He's tallish and otherwise average, light brown hair curling at the ends with lack of effort to style it for the past week, and brown eyes to match, narrowed with tiredness, and staring into his laptop. His mouth quirked and revealed a dimple when he found something stupid and funny, intensifying his double chin; a result of his natural browsing position, gathering as he fell lower onto the pillow. It's one of Dan's most common positions. _

_Hearing a bump in the kitchen, he scoots up, and looks suspiciously at the small sliver of light through his bedroom door, just now noticing how it was already dark out, at only 6pm. His parents had left to eat out just half an hour ago, and he hadn't invited anybody over, let alone into his house. Immediately, his thoughts went to the worst possible scenarios. Someone broke in, or even evil alien spirits or some other supernatural bullshit. But, he was able to straighten out his mind quickly enough, telling himself it was just people in the flat above or below or something. He dismisses the sound, and switches tabs to YouTube, looking through his subs before clicking a video, popping on headphones, tuning out to any other weird sounds on the flat and not letting his mind take over._


	2. Chapter 1

I sit in the living room, having forgotten about my laptop which I'd let fall to the side, contemplating life; or more specifically, my life. My parents are out most of the time, working after a car accident that forced them to take a little more money than they could afford out of the bank. We aren't poor or anything, just a bit in dept. Maybe they still owe the money because whenever they get a raise, they go out and celebrate at a fancy restaurant. It isn't that which bothers me though, I don't really care much about money or them not being here or anything. Actually, I kind of like it because the flat's nice enough, I have a laptop and Wi-Fi, and that's probably all I need in life. On top of that, there's nobody to look over my shoulder while I'm on Tumblr, and nobody preventing me from singing out loud.

I'd gotten bullied for that before I left school, about a month ago. Not specifically singing, but being a drama kid. And not a large extent of it, so I really don't have anything to be complaining about in my life. Most kids get a fair douse. I can't say I should be complaining about the bullies. It was just the usual, "Gay" and stuff. Ouch, I must be so gay, I like to act. I must like men because of it, shame on me, and shame on gays. I'm glad I'm away from that, yeah, but I'm also away from my friends, as cliché as I'm going to sound. Since I'd left high school, they'd all left London, leaving me here to mold. I shouldn't be mad. It's not their fault I'm not doing anything with my life yet. I got good grades, but I'm still being held back, sitting here all day whether it be myself doing the holding or someone or something else, I don't know. A just-turned-18 guy with nothing better to do than watch YouTube videos and go on Tumblr or whatever else. I'm a nerd, I guess, though I like to think I'm more of a 'cool nerd', at least online, but that makes me feel even more pathetic. Apparently a gay nerd at that, I mean what straight guy in his late teens watches boys on the internet and enjoys it?

And that's all it is- all I've done with my life. I've been sitting here for practically a straight month, laughing at stupid puns and listening to music. I'm only 18 and my life is being wasted. I like to blame it on my parents shoving me through education without actually preparing me for the real world. If someone were to write a book on the events happening in my life for the past month, and my plans for the rest of it, it could barely pass half a page. I'm going to die eventually, sure, it's inevitable, and is there even a point to making something out of your life? I'm sure there's got to be. Happiness or something? My history teacher once told me the answer to the universe was to find your purpose, but the universe is so infinitely large, how can something like my life plans bother me so much? My parents are going to want me out of the house sooner or later, and time is going by so fast that before I even finish thinking about this I could be a 40 year old bum, or still living with them.

From what my parents see of me, they think I'm depressed. I'm not exactly sad, nor angry, nor hopeless completely, and I don't see how I could be depressed without either of those being key in my life. I just take joy in what I'm doing right now, sitting like a potato on the internet all day. It's amusing, and it's not like I don't meet people. I don't _not_ have a social life, it's just not in public, in real life. It's with people who understand what it's like to be online. And I'm seen as weird for it. I shut out the rest of the world, that's true, and I know it. I know to be a human being I need to participate in the world and get out there, but when I tell myself this my brain and body don't seem to want to connect, my brain yelling but my body being like _no fuck you brain I'm comfortable_. I'll say go apply for a part time job. Go to college, but even though I hear the words in my head, my body just stays put and I see a gif of a puppy and re-blog it instead. I want to do this with my life, make friends on the internet, and watch videos and even make them. I could do that. If it wasn't so looked down on, looked at as lazy, or even weird, especially to be talking to people you've never seen face to face. Nobody understands that.

There's one face I've seen and known now for a while, though he hasn't seen mine. Phil Lester's face. Paler than me, northern, paired with black hair sort of cut like mine, and super blue eyes. Eyes worthy of description by comparison to gems, but that would be gay of me. A YouTuber who just so happened to respond to my message about Muse, and has been talking to me since then. But not often enough for my liking, even though I don't want to come across as a crazy fan or anything, which I'm not by the way. For the most part. I just feel like I can relate to him in this small community of YouTube, and, God, would I like to meet him in person.

But, just the same, here I sit, grabbing my laptop and sliding it back onto my lap and staring into its sleeping screen at my face. Is it sad I can't imagine this face I know too well doing something productive? I shake the mouse and my face disappears behind Google Chrome. I type 'AmazingPhil' into the search bar and scroll through old videos that have for so long now distracted me when I have an existential crises.

When the video's finished, I sit and allow myself to think about my life for a second more. I need to do something about it, as much as I don't want to. I e-mail Phil a quick message, leaving my Skype name at the bottom, and shut the lid of my laptop with a wince, pushing it to the side before my brain could protest the action, or even overthink what I'd just sent.

I'm going outside… for once. I've been avoiding it for too long already. I decided I wanted to go shopping. I had some money still, judging by the fact I hadn't done anything to spend it for a month, due to the whole not going outside thing. Just to be safe though, I put my laptop in my backpack and brought it. I'm not going to lie it's been so long since I've left this flat that I nearly walked out of the door without putting pants on.

It's August, and the weather's still warm enough, and of course humid, it being London. I try pretty hard not to look too much like an emo kid, even though I'd accidentally worn all black, by smiling at old ladies and harmless looking people who I decided wouldn't hurt me. I don't really know where I'm going, so I just head to Starbucks. Typical, yes, but also somewhere I can go on Wi-Fi. I mean, baby steps, right? At least I'm going on the internet in public. Even thinking this, I felt pretty pathetic. Like a grade-A potato, professional at Not Caring about Anything in Life except Technology, which of course is a shitty title nobody really wants to be known by. I accidentally laughed out loud at myself, _nobody is here to know me as anything. _Arriving, I hide my face behind my laptop again.

I'm not going to lie, I'm already extremely curious about whether Phil had said anything back over e-mail. Actually that's an understatement, sadly. It was the reason I decided to go to Starbucks. Also, I wanted a Pumpkin Spice Latté. I force myself to open Tumblr instead of G-mail though, and head up to the counter to ask for my drink, noticing that the girl behind is in fact beautiful. Symmetrical face, golden hair, and green eyes, stunning really. I make an effort to look cool of course, giving her a smile with half my face only. I read about hot, main character, boys doing that in some cheesy girl's books, I'm not going to pretend I didn't read twilight.

"PSL," I say, hoping to sound short termed and clever with my words. I want to come off as intelligent to such a pretty person.

Much to my surprise, she snorts out a laugh, " Aren't you a little too cool of a guy to order a latté?" she queries.

Well, there goes my manly impression. I look down, thinking about how turned off I already am by her closed-mindedness. I shove the money across the table and, trying a different route, say, "Hey, don't judge and pretend like they aren't the most delectable drink here."

"Huh?" her eyes glaze over a bit, as though she's confused by my vocabulary.

"Uh... they're yummy." I pull my phone out of my pocket awkwardly and pretend to text one of my many cool people friends, ending the conversation before it gets any more interesting. That went so well. I grab my Gay Latté and reposition myself and my laptop around the corner of the coffee shop in order to further hide form my problems.

Okay, no avoiding it any further, nothing to do now but check my e-mail. I try to take my time opening the page, feeling stupid for the amount of anticipation I'm feeling. Just to waste time, I look up and scan the room, making eye contact with the girl at the counter again as she looks up from her phone. Out of habit, I avoid her eye contact by pretending I heard something beside me and looking that way as quickly as possible. Typically, that way just happened to be directly at a wall.

Phil had of course mailed me back in the time it took me to walk to Starbucks and sound super cool for that girl, being an internet hobo like me, but with more meaning to his hobo-ness. And there it is- his Skype name, telling me it so I know the invite isn't from some creeper. I smile full on, face hidden behind my screen, and bite down on my lip as I switch to the Skype tab, accepting his request, and opening his profile to send him a message:

I'm kind of actually in the outside world, so I can't really talk right now without feeling socially awkward. But soon.

I take a minuet to look it over, knowing that I should probably already feel comfortable typing to him, and send it even though I don't yet fully believe in my ability to not sound like a weirdo. I'm beginning to feel super antsy to get home, but at the same time I want to take my time, because a) the sooner I got home the sooner I'll have to face Phil, like face-to-face face him, and b) the longer I take the more it seemed like I have a life.

It's been too long since I'd decided to leave Starbucks, and just the same it's been awhile since I've been on Skype. I'm just going to avoid it even more. Actually, so much so that I hadn't even opened my laptop when I'd stepped into my flat, just shut the door behind me and put my laptop down, letting myself sigh over how worked up I am about such a small thing, it's pathetic. Eventually, I decide to further this day of adventures by playing the piano, something I hadn't done in at least two months.

Music has always been very special to me (cough, cough, gay, I know), and soothing in a way. I wanted to learn as much as I could before I got absorbed into accepting my life as the internet, and I used to take lessons. It's just been so long. As I sit down, my fingers find their spots comfortably in B major, and from there I close my eyes tightly and try to remember the keys as I play, roughly at first, a key off every now and then, Muse's Starlight. Not overly difficult, and once I begin to remember, my fingers are easily on their way without my telling them. I keep my eyes closed anyways, listening to the contrast between the keys as I hit them, focusing first on the melody, then on the base line and underlying counter melody. The song ends before I want it to, and as if on cue, my laptop pops, a Skype sound similar to the MSN one I used to be so familiar with.

I cave and set down next to my laptop, deciding to calm down about the whole situation, and just check it without putting myself through any more misery. Phil's online and has sent me back a message just saying okay, but in a nice way, because he obviously understands the life of an internet hobo and how being in public was a special occasion for me. I don't know if I expected any less. I smile and close the Skype tab, opening YouTube and typing in once again, AmazingPhil.

And there I stay, of course. My parents came home from work and set back out, I don't know where. When I look up next from my laptop it was because I'm hungry. I tell myself to go get some cereal in a cup, basically what I ended up resorting to for dinner at least four times a week, but my general urge to be lazy takes over and I decide my stomach can probably last for a few more minutes.

I hear it for a second time then, a thud in the kitchen. It's kind of a peculiar-for lack of better word-sound. Like something soft but dense hitting the floor, a bouncy ball maybe? But not exactly that. The first time I heard it kind of scared me, because it was unfamiliar, but now it mostly makes me curious. I mean, someone wouldn't break in twice, and it definitely sounds like it's coming from the kitchen around the corner, and not the flat above or below me. I decide it was maybe a good time for that glass of cereal now.

The kitchen's colder than the living room, probably because my laptop isn't in it to heat it up. I shiver only a little bit as I walk in, slowly and dramatically around the corner. I may or may not be pretending to be in a secret agent movie. Hey, when you're alone all you have to do _something_ with your life to not feel totally crazy. Because pretending I'm a secret agent makes me feel completely sane. Either way, I waste a whole lot of time trying to convince myself to just walk around the corner and look. When I do, I'm not surprised to see nothing. Whatever it was, it could have been small. Or maybe something in the wall. I ponder over this while I opened the cupboard to grab a glass, and reach beside the fridge for a box of Cheerios.

All is well until I feel a breeze on the back of my neck. I turn around to see the source of it, and it really doesn't take much brain to know it's the window, open. This would be normal if it wasn't late August, and if my parents weren't been out. Using logical reasoning that I learned in education before I was spit out of it, I decide the window was forgotten about, instead of letting my human instincts tell me to be scared. I dismiss it easily enough with that, and move my attention back to what I was doing.

I've never really had that feeling you get when you're being watched, as often as I hear about it, but there _is_ some weird sense that surrounds me as I leave the kitchen, glass and spoon in hand as though I could use them as a weapon if an axe murder were to jump out at me. I'm not sure if I feel eyes on me, or if I'm just having déjà-vu from hearing the same noise last week. I'm pretty familiar with the usual strange senses I feel, but this one catches me off guard. Like a prickle in the air, or a sound so low pitch a human can't hear it. I shake it off, and head back to the comfort of my bedroom, laptop in hand.

It takes a few minutes for my old school VAIO laptop to turn on, and when it does, it doesn't surprise me that Phil's online, so I click to his Skype profile and prepare myself to call him. I may or may not have fixed my hair before doing so, but not to look good, more like to not look scary. It's 9 at night already and I have no reason to look extra nice or anything, so I don't do anything more, at least not after I catch myself overthinking my actions again. I can't be blamed too much, this is the first time in so long that something vaguely exciting has happened in my life. Exchanging cell numbers and Facebook profiles hadn't been so hard, just another way to communicate through digital text or whatever, and even then it was no problem for me to type a quick text that probably contained a typo. We knew each other well enough for that, we're comfortable enough for it. There's just something about face-to-face that makes me more nervous than I probably should be.

I click the call button, cursing myself for over thinking it once more, and wait. It takes him all of ten rings and, boom, there's his face. I smile super wide almost against my will.

"Well, hello there, Amazing Phil," I start out all classy, playing up my southernism, but at the same time stopping myself from saying something like 'nice face'.

He laughs, smiling too, a little out of breath, probably just ran from his kitchen or something. What did I expect? Stupid, sweet, Phil to suddenly decide my face wasn't worth looking at? "You look exactly like your pictures."

"Yeah, man. I'd say the same but I basically look at you all of the time already so it's really no big deal." Damn it, Dan, calm your shit.

"How was your social experience today," I could see his eyes searching for conversation

"I would have honestly preferred it to have been less social, not going to lie."

And from there we kick off, our own little world. It soon feels like we were texting each other like I used to in class, complaining about general society, and him listening. It does feel surreal, talking basically face-to-face with someone I'd only seen on the internet and so highly admired, but here we are, friends. And, before I know it, it's two in the morning and I have developed my natural browsing position, featuring my best angle, without really caring or taking notice, because Phil's just as relaxed. In fact, so much so that I don't even notice how easy it is talking to him until he admits he's sleepy.

Of course, as soon as he's logged off I begin thinking through what just happened, but for the first time my thoughts are positive. He put up with my stupid sense of humor, even though I know it's quite different from his. In fact, thinking about it I can see how we are two very different people, but the alike at the same time. Like he's the anti-me, while still being me. Like Loki and Thor, very different outlooks on the world- but similar in their brotherhood. I smile through already sore cheeks, comparing Phil and I to brothers- a close relationship I'd wanted with him since I watched his first video. Is it pathetic of me to care so much? Gay, maybe, that I feel too attached to this other boy. But, he's such a sweet heart, and even my best friends over the years haven't been so like me in their interests.

I fall asleep, probably around three in the morning, his face in my mind, as cheesy and dumb as that feels to say, it's only the truth. I'm obsessing over this guy, and though I regret the thought of it, I don't mind it so much in reality.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

My parents wake me up the next morning, waving a print screen of a university's website in my face. My mum's kind of giving me this sad, but actually disappointed, smile, while my dad looks sterner.

"So I found this for you." I fail to see how he had _found_ it, considering it's an application form to Manchester University, and it isn't exactly out of the normal for kids around here to go there.

My mum chirps in, "I know you want to take a gap year, or something, but it's just around the corner and you're really doing nothing with your life so far. I know some of your friends have already moved out to campus. Maybe you-"

"Nope." I roll back over and shove my face into the pillow beside me, which admittedly is covering the corner of my laptop just enough that I couldn't see it, but it hurts pretty badly when the hard plastic comes into contact with my brow bone. I grunt on impact, hoping it comes across as a grunt of distress directed at this conversation.

"See, this is doing more harm than good," my father comes at it again, boring away at the subject despite my obvious disinterest.

My mum decides it's be a good time to add, "Literally… Physically," petting at my brow as I turn back over to scowl at them.

They aren't doing this for me. They're doing this to get me out of the house- probably scared, too, that I'll end up a 40 year old living with my parents. But I'm not going to let myself be shoveled out of the flat based on their idea that I'll be a failure unless I get shoved through this young-adult shit as quickly as possible.

"Guys. You know what would do more harm than good? You jamming papers in my face and probing me for being lazy at, what, seven in the morning?"

"It's six."

"Not the point. The point's there's a growing boy, here. The point is stress. The point is I'm 18 and I just got spit out of a stupid school where I had to ask to go to the freaking washroom, and now I'm expected to decide what to do with my life," (yeah, maybe that was a tweet I'd read, but it's still a logical point) "And, the fact that my parents continue pressing isn't helping." I end the almost-speech there, but continue in my mind, thinking about everything else I could possibly say in this situation. _I'm not ready, the whole idea of it is dumb, what was the point of further education? Can't I just do something I enjoy? I enjoy not going to university. My life will be over soon enough, why spend so much of it doing something I loath just because it's the normal thing to do. Live my life in depression just so I can live it to the 'fullest'? Put aside even the _chance _I can get so much as a year's break. _ But I stop there, not wanting to be too open about my thoughts to my own parents.

I'm vaguely aware that my parents had been arguing back at me as I'd thought this. It wasn't that I think education is dumb, more the way it works. I'd finally given up on my side, and pretended to go back to sleep just do they'd leave me alone, and they did. They go to work, leaving me knowing that they don't care _that_ much.

They leave for work. I've done all the thinking about Phil I can muster at this point, so I can't help but begin to think about the sounds I heard. It's a habit to overthink things, I'll admit that. But really, what else am I supposed to do in this repetitive life of mine?

Basically, my mind wanders to what it could have been. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a person. Well, I hope it wasn't, considering my being pathetic and the probability of falling over while trying to run from an axe murderer, or missing while trying to be defensive and accidentally hitting myself, because knowing me that was possible. It could be an animal that got into the flat through the window and escaped before I James Bonded my way into the kitchen. Or, even escaped deeper into the flat. There could be a creature in the flat right now. Or some form of alien, one that'd been looked over or was being hunted down by the government in secret, but actually preyed on teenage boys left alone in apartments. It's too early to be thinking about this, I'm scaring myself.

I stretch until I hear blood roaring in my ears, breathe out a yawn, and roll off of my bed, not bothering to judge the distance to the floor and landing with a hard bump. Typically, it wasn't even noon and I've hit my head twice. Maybe that's why I'm coming up with these crazy ideas. I make no sense. But something that does make sense right now is bathing.

I continue my path of rolling and head towards the bathroom, only feeling a little bit lame for crawling with my comforter draped over my practically naked self.

I kick the door closed behind me, and run the water before I even have my eyes open all the way. The water wakes me up, though. It's definitely too cold. And then too hot. And when I get out of the shower I step and drip right onto my comforter. At least I'm now awake.

It doesn't take me long to put on some joggers (which, just for the sake of pointing out, are meant for athletic people. Which sort of makes me laugh because they're basically the only thing I wear if I'm not in public.) and head down to the kitchen. _ The place of the incident_. I go for my usual cereal, deciding I could probably live on it if it wasn't for the lack of nutrition. Well, you could technically eat anything- you just may die from doing so. I come to the conclusion I'd make a stir-fry or order Chinese or eat leftovers from the restaurants tonight, and maybe get some form of protein. Again, though, I notice I was overthinking my every action.

I Skype Phil again that night, as though it isn't out of the ordinary. And, the night after that. Three nights in a row, really, which is kind of satisfying. But, at the same time I feel a little bit obsessive over the sounds, especially since I hadn't heard it for a few more nights in a row now, too preoccupied with Phil to be keeping track. Not that they're related or anything. Skype and the sounds are just two things that any normal person would have forgotten about within, probably, ten minutes of them happening. To be honest, I think that I've already figured out I'm not a normal person.

I do, however, hear it for a third time on the 8th of August, four days after I last heard it, and five days after the first time. It doesn't surprise me anymore, and doesn't so much scare me as brought more curiosity upon me. It's the first time in the last three days that I haven't been on Skype, Phil isn't online, and so I just laze around on my laptop as usual. I can't say the sound was the same every time, in fact, for all I know it could be something different each time, but there's something that makes me think it isn't. And not just like a 'this is too continuous to be separate things' kind of thing, more of a 'this feels like déjà vu' kind of thing. The first and second time, it was a creak and the third time it was the bounce.

I was known for spending all of my time sitting and staring into space, even if I was honestly just thinking about things that may seem stupid like this. And I kept thinking about it until I finally decided I'd spend the day camping out in the kitchen with my laptop.

And so I do. I take my laptop and my comforter from the bathroom floor, now sort-of dry, and a pillow and one of the mugs I left in my room, and shuffled into the kitchen with it all. I make tea, typically, and stick my pillow against a cupboard, splaying my comforter upside-down on the floor in front of it, making sure the window was open. The window lets in almost cold gusts of air over my head, which is nice, but at the same time distracting from my internet routine. I open a (metaphorical) window in Chrome and put in a 't' in the search bar, the computer immediately assuming where I was headed based on, well, my entire life, or rather lack of.

I spend around an hour mindlessly scrolling and clicking, finger on the ALT key, then move on to streaming some shows I need to catch up on, by the time I'm done that the sun's lazily setting and painting orange slivers all over the kitchen, and onto my screen, which I'm only a little bit sad about.

I get up to look out the window, thinking maybe if I close the drapes but kept the window open, whatever it was can still get in and the sun wouldn't be on me, but I'm suddenly caught off guard by the sun in my eyes. It occurs to me that I'm looking at this massive ball of fire that I probably can't even fathom if I think about it for too long. Which, of course, is exactly what I do. Knowing looking right at the sun is an obvious bad idea, my eyes trail around the view from the tiny window. The trees are losing their leaves, and the grass is browning, but just the same everything's lit up by this giant orb of fire. Oranges glow so bright they're almost florescent, while everything else seems to shimmer gold, including the clouds beneath the sun. I take a minuet to inhale it, hoping the smell of the rotting leaves could match the intense beauty I'm beholding, but sadly I'm disappointed by the not-so-fresh air of down-town Manchester. I let myself try to fathom once more the size and awesomeness of the star I'm looking at and generally beholding before I close the drapes and sit back down on my comforter, adjusting so I'm lying sideways, and wondering why I don't look out of windows more often, considering their protection from actual society without being a closed off room.

Eventually, the sun dives the rest of the way into the ground- at least theoretically- and the clouds once again take over the would-be starry sky, as expected, not that you can see the stars all that well through the light of the surrounding buildings.

It's as I'm dosing off around midnight, while watching Phil's new video that shit gets real.

Mostly, I'm not expecting it, like I told myself it was going to happen, but I don't genuinely believe it, so you can imagine my surprise when suddenly something falls past my line of vision and onto my keyboard, which is luckily placed strategically on my crotch and provides enough protection to not stun me as this thing sails down and strikes. Of course my first thought is frantic and of general fear, so I kind of roll over to try to make an escape, as this thing bounds in the same direction, supposedly trying to accomplish the same thing. Which fails quite bluntly. This soft mass of black pushes off of me with its hind legs, and flies across the room opposite me.

But, unlike any other stray and/or strange animal I've encountered before, it doesn't completely bolt away. It lands quite gracefully, in fact, on my kitchen counter, which is a pretty excellent stunt considering the previous humor that was my lame attempt at Self Defense against Wild Animals. But there it sits, now identifiable as a black cat, and it stares at me as intensely as a cat probably can stare. I can't really tell any facial expressions, if it is showing any, because it's mostly these gaping blue eyes on a super soft two dimensional black canvas; no features. So I stare back, probably looking more scared than the Self Defense against Wild Animals book says to in order to not convince your predator that you're easy prey. It's a stare off now. I mean, yeah it's just a cat, but a stray cat. Better to be careful. No sudden movements.

And with telling myself that, I make a run for the door, having quickly planned out the path to take to avoid the counter. Once I accomplish that, I shut myself in my room, shunning myself for a) leaving the stray cat in my kitchen, and b) leaving my laptop with it in there, along with all of my food. Well, shit.

I finally decide it's best to just suck it up, grow some balls, and head out to get my laptop. I know it's a little bit pathetic, and, well, dare I say it, gay, to be afraid of a wild kitty cat, no matter how odd said cat might be. Never judge a book by its cover; never judge a cat by its whiskers… right? Besides, I probably won't be able to wait as long as it would take me to fully grow balls without my laptop.

I head back out, telling myself feral cats weren't as bad as rats or muskrats or badgers or whatever else could be lurking the gullies, with nothing in my hands for protection. Typically, when I get to the kitchen there's nothing. No cat on the counter or table. Maybe somewhere else in the flat, but for now, my laptop's all alone in the kitchen. I pick it up and leave, closing the window on my way.

I proceed to go through the rest of my nighty routine, if you can even call it that, after catching my breath.


End file.
